by Zane Grey
CHAPTER VIII.
Winter dragged by uneventfully for Betty. Unlike the other pioneergirls, who were kept busy all the time with their mending, andlinsey weaving, and household duties, Betty had nothing to diverther but her embroidery and her reading. These she found verytiresome. Her maid was devoted to her and never left a thing undone.Annie was old Sam's daughter, and she had waited on Betty since shehad been a baby. The cleaning or mending or darning--anything in theshape of work that would have helped pass away the monotonous hoursfor Betty, was always done before she could lift her hand.
During the day she passed hours in her little room, and most of themwere dreamed away by her window. Lydia and Alice came over sometimesand whiled away the tedious moments with their bright chatter andmerry laughter, their castle-building, and their romancing on heroesand love and marriage as girls always will until the end of time.They had not forgotten Mr. Clarke, but as Betty had rebuked themwith a dignity which forbade any further teasing on that score, theyhad transferred their fun-making to the use of Mr. Miller's name.
Fearing her brothers' wrath Betty had not told them of the scenewith Miller at the dance. She had learned enough of rough borderjustice to dread the consequence of such a disclosure. She permittedMiller to come to the house, although she never saw him alone.Miller had accepted this favor gratefully. He said that on the nightof the dance he had been a little the worse for Dan Watkins' strongliquor, and that, together with his bitter disappointment, made himact in the mad way which had so grievously offended her. He exertedhimself to win her forgiveness. Betty was always tender-hearted, andthough she did not trust him, she said they might still be friends,but that that depended on his respect for her forbearance. Millerhad promised he would never refer to the old subject and he had kepthis word.
Indeed Betty welcomed any diversion for the long winter evenings.Occasionally some of the young people visited her, and they sang anddanced, roasted apples, popped chestnuts, and played games. OftenWetzel and Major McColloch came in after supper. Betty would comedown and sing for them, and afterward would coax Indian lore andwoodcraft from Wetzel, or she would play checkers with the Major. Ifshe succeeded in winning from him, which in truth was not often, sheteased him unmercifully. When Col. Zane and the Major had settleddown to their series of games, from which nothing short of Indianscould have diverted them, Betty sat by Wetzel. The silent man of thewoods, an appellation the hunter had earned by his reticence, talkedfor Betty as he would for no one else.
One night while Col. Zane, his wife and Betty were entertainingCapt. Boggs and Major McColloch and several of Betty's girlsfriends, after the usual music and singing, storytelling became theorder of the evening. Little Noah told of the time he had climbedthe apple-tree in the yard after a raccoon and got severely bitten.
"One day," said Noah, "I heard Tige barking out in the orchard and Iran out there and saw a funny little fur ball up in the tree with ablack tail and white rings around it. It looked like a pretty catwith a sharp nose. Every time Tige barked the little animal showedhis teeth and swelled up his back. I wanted him for a pet. I got Samto give me a sack and I climbed the tree and the nearer I got to himthe farther he backed down the limb. I followed him and put out thesack to put it over his head and he bit me. I fell from the limb,but he fell too and Tige killed him and Sam stuffed him for me."
"Noah, you are quite a valiant hunter," said Betty. "Now, Jonathan,remember that you promised to tell me of your meeting with DanielBoone."
"It was over on the Muskingong near the mouth of the Sandusky. I washunting in the open woods along the bank when I saw an Indian. Hesaw me at the same time and we both treed. There we stood a longtime each afraid to change position. Finally I began to act tiredand resorted to an old ruse. I put my coon-skin cap on my ramrod andcautiously poked it from behind the tree, expecting every second tohear the whistle of the redskin's bullet. Instead I heard a jollyvoice yell: 'Hey, young feller, you'll have to try somethingbetter'n that.' I looked and saw a white man standing out in theopen and shaking all over with laughter. I went up to him and foundhim to be a big strong fellow with an honest, merry face. He said:'I'm Boone.' I was considerably taken aback, especially when I sawhe knew I was a white man all the time. We camped and hunted alongthe river a week and at the Falls of the Muskingong he struck outfor his Kentucky home."
"Here is Wetzel," said Col. Zane, who had risen and gone to thedoor. "Now, Betty, try and get Lew to tell us something."
"Come, Lewis, here is a seat by me," said Betty. "We have beenpleasantly passing the time. We have had bear stories, snakestories, ghost stories--all kinds of tales. Will you tell us one?"
"Lewis, did you ever have a chance to kill a hostile Indian and nottake it?" asked Col. Zane.
"Never but once," answered Lewis.
"Tell us about it. I imagine it will be interesting."
"Well, I ain't good at tellin' things," began Lewis. "I reckon I'veseen some strange sights. I kin tell you about the only redskin Iever let off. Three years ago I was takin' a fall hunt over on theBig Sandy, and I run into a party of Shawnees. I plugged a chief andstarted to run. There was some good runners and I couldn't shake 'emin the open country. Comin' to the Ohio I jumped in and swum across,keepin' my rifle and powder dry by holdin' 'em up. I hid in somebulrushes and waited. Pretty soon along comes three Injuns, and whenthey saw where I had taken to the water they stopped and held ashort pow-wow. Then they all took to the water. This was what I waswaitin' for. When they got nearly acrosst I shot the first redskin,and loadin' quick got a bullet into the others. The last Injun didnot sink. I watched him go floatin' down stream expectin' everyminute to see him go under as he was hurt so bad he could hardlykeep his head above water. He floated down a long ways and thecurrent carried him to a pile of driftwood which had lodged againsta little island. I saw the Injun crawl up on the drift. I went downstream and by keepin' the island between me and him I got out towhere he was. I pulled my tomahawk and went around the head of theisland and found the redskin leanin' against a big log. He was ayoung brave and a fine lookin strong feller. He was tryin' to stopthe blood from my bullet-hole in his side. When he saw me he triedto get up, but he was too weak. He smiled, pointed to the wound andsaid: 'Deathwind not heap times bad shot.' Then he bowed his headand waited for the tomahawk. Well, I picked him up and carried himashore and made a shack by a spring. I staid there with him. When hegot well enough to stand a few days' travel I got him across theriver and givin' him a hunk of deer meat I told him to go, and if Iever saw him again I'd make a better shot.
"A year afterwards I trailed two Shawnees into Wingenund's camp andgot surrounded and captured. The Delaware chief is my great enemy.They beat me, shot salt into my legs, made me run the gauntlet, tiedme on the back of a wild mustang. Then they got ready to burn me atthe stake. That night they painted my face black and held the usualdeath dances. Some of the braves got drunk and worked themselvesinto a frenzy. I allowed I'd never see daylight. I seen that one ofthe braves left to guard me was the young feller I had wounded theyear before. He never took no notice of me. In the gray of the earlymornin' when all were asleep and the other watch dozin' I felt coldsteel between my wrists and my buckskin thongs dropped off. Then myfeet were cut loose. I looked round and in the dim light I seen myyoung brave. He handed me my own rifle, knife and tomahawk, put hisfinger on his lips and with a bright smile, as if to say he wassquare with me, he pointed to the east. I was out of sight in aminute."
"How noble of him!" exclaimed Betty, her eyes all aglow. "He paidhis debt to you, perhaps at the price of his life."
"I have never known an Indian to forget a promise, or a kind action,or an injury," observed Col. Zane.
"Are the Indians half as bad as they are called?" asked Betty. "Ihave heard as many stories of their nobility as of their cruelty."
"The Indians consider that they have been robbed and driven fromtheir homes. What we think hideously inhuman is war to them,"answered Col. Zane.
"When I came here f
rom Fort Pitt I expected to see and fight Indiansevery day," said Capt. Boggs. "I have been here at Wheeling fornearly two years and have never seen a hostile Indian. There havebeen some Indians in the vicinity during that time but not one hasshown himself to me. I'm not up to Indian tricks, I know, but Ithink the last siege must have been enough for them. I don't believewe shall have any more trouble from them."
"Captain," called out Col. Zane, banging his hand on the table."I'll bet you my best horse to a keg of gunpowder that you seeenough Indians before you are a year older to make you wish you hadnever seen or heard of the western border."
"And I'll go you the same bet," said Major McColloch.
"You see, Captain, you must understand a little of the nature of theIndian," continued Col. Zane. "We have had proof that the Delawaresand the Shawnees have been preparing for an expedition for months.We shall have another siege some day and to my thinking it will be alonger and harder one than the last. What say you, Wetzel?"
"I ain't sayin' much, but I don't calkilate on goin' on any longhunts this summer," answered the hunter.
"And do you think Tarhe, Wingenund, Pipe, Cornplanter, and all thosechiefs will unite their forces and attack us?" asked Betty ofWetzel.
"Cornplanter won't. He has been paid for most of his land and heain't so bitter. Tarhe is not likely to bother us. But Pipe andWingenund and Red Fox--they all want blood."
"Have you seen these chiefs?" said Betty.
"Yes, I know 'em all and they all know me," answered the hunter."I've watched over many a trail waitin' for one of 'em. If I canever get a shot at any of 'em I'll give up Injuns and go farmin'.Good night, Betty."
"What a strange man is Wetzel," mused Betty, after the visitors hadgone. "Do you know, Eb, he is not at all like any one else. I haveseen the girls shudder at the mention of his name and I have heardthem say they could not look in his eyes. He does not affect me thatway. It is not often I can get him to talk, but sometimes he tellsme beautiful thing about the woods; how he lives in the wilderness,his home under the great trees; how every leaf on the trees andevery blade of grass has its joy for him as well as its knowledge;how he curls up in his little bark shack and is lulled to sleep bythe sighing of the wind through the pine tops. He told me he hasoften watched the stars for hours at a time. I know there is awaterfall back in the Black Forest somewhere that Lewis goes to,simply to sit and watch the water tumble over the precipice."
"Wetzel is a wonderful character, even to those who know him only asan Indian slayer and a man who wants no other occupation. Some dayhe will go off on one of these long jaunts and will never return.That is certain. The day is fast approaching when a man like Wetzelwill be of no use in life. Now, he is a necessity. Like Tige he cansmell Indians. Betty, I believe Lewis tells you so much and is sokind and gentle toward you because he cares for you."
"Of course Lew likes me. I know he does and I want him to," saidBetty. "But he does not care as you seem to think. GrandmotherWatkins said the same. I am sure both of you are wrong."
"Did Dan's mother tell you that? Well, she's pretty shrewd. It'squite likely, Betty, quite likely. It seems to me you are not soquick witted as you used to be."
"Why so?" asked Betty, quickly.
"Well, you used to be different somehow," said her brother, as hepatted her hand.
"Do you mean I am more thoughtful?"
"Yes, and sometimes you seem sad."
"I have tried to be brave and--and happy," said Betty, her voicetrembling slightly.
"Yes, yes, I know you have, Betty. You have done wonderfully wellhere in this dead place. But tell me, don't be angry, don't youthink too much of some one?"
"You have no right to ask me that," said Betty, flushing and turningaway toward the stairway.
"Well, well, child, don't mind me. I did not mean anything. There,good night, Betty."
Long after she had gone up-stairs Col. Zane sat by his fireside.From time to time he sighed. He thought of the old Virginia home andof the smile of his mother. It seemed only a few short years sincehe had promised her that he would take care of the baby sister. Howhad he kept that promise made when Betty was a little thing bouncingon his knee? It seemed only yesterday. How swift the flight of time!Already Betty was a woman; her sweet, gay girlhood had passed;already a shadow had fallen on her face, the shadow of a secretsorrow.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
March with its blustering winds had departed, and now April'sshowers and sunshine were gladdening the hearts of the settlers.Patches of green freshened the slopes of the hills; the lilac bushesshowed tiny leaves, and the maple-buds were bursting. Yesterday ablue-bird--surest harbinger of spring--had alighted on thefence-post and had sung his plaintive song. A few more days and theblossoms were out mingling their pink and white with the green; thered-bud, the hawthorne, and the dog-wood were in bloom, checkeringthe hillsides.
"Bessie, spring is here," said Col. Zane, as he stood in thedoorway. "The air is fresh, the sun shines warm, the birds aresinging; it makes me feel good."
"Yes, it is pleasant to have spring with us again," answered hiswife. "I think, though, that in winter I am happier. In summer I amalways worried. I am afraid for the children to be out of my sight,and when you are away on a hunt I am distraught until you are homesafe."
"Well, if the redskins let us alone this summer it will be somethingnew," he said, laughing. "By the way, Bess, some new people came tothe fort last night. They rafted down from the Monongahelasettlements. Some of the women suffered considerably. I intend tooffer them the cabin on the hill until they can cut the timber andrun up a house. Sam said the cabin roof leaked and the chimneysmoked, but with a little work I think they can be made morecomfortable there than at the block-house."
"It is the only vacant cabin in the settlement. I can accommodatethe women folks here."
"Well, we'll see about it. I don't want you and Bettyinconvenienced. I'll send Sam up to the cabin and have him fixthings up a bit and make it more habitable."
The door opened, admitting Col. Zane's elder boy. The lad's face wasdirty, his nose was all bloody, and a big bruise showed over hisright eye.
"For the land's sake!" exclaimed his mother. "Look at the boy. Noah,come here. What have you been doing?"
Noah crept close to his mother and grasping her apron with bothhands hid his face. Mrs. Zane turned the boy around and wiped hisdiscolored features with a wet towel. She gave him a little shakeand said: "Noah, have you been fighting again?"
"Let him go and I'll tell you about it," said the Colonel, and whenthe youngster had disappeared he continued: "Right after breakfastNoah went with me down to the mill. I noticed several childrenplaying in front of Reihart's blacksmith shop. I went in, leavingNoah outside. I got a plow-share which I had left with Reihart to berepaired. He came to the door with me and all at once he said: 'lookat the kids.' I looked and saw Noah walk up to a boy and saysomething to him. The lad was a stranger, and I have no doubtbelongs to these new people I told you about. He was bigger thanNoah. At first the older boy appeared very friendly and evidentlywanted to join the others in their game. I guess Noah did notapprove of this, for after he had looked the stranger over he hauledaway and punched the lad soundly. To make it short the strange boygave Noah the worst beating he ever got in his life. I told Noah tocome straight to you and confess."
"Well, did you ever!" ejaculated Mrs. Zane. "Noah is a bad boy. Andyou stood and watched him fight. You are laughing about it now.Ebenezer Zane, I would not put it beneath you to set Noah tofighting. I know you used to make the little niggers fight. Anyway,it serves Noah right and I hope it will be a lesson to him."
"I'll make you a bet, Bessie," said the Colonel, with another laugh."I'll bet you that unless we lock him up, Noah will fight that boyevery day or every time he meets him."
"I won't bet," said Mrs. Zane, with a smile of resignation.
"Where's Betts? I haven't seen her this morning. I am going over toShort Creek to-morrow or next day, and thi
nk I'll take her with me.You know I am to get a commission to lay out several settlementsalong the river, and I want to get some work finished at Short Creekthis spring. Mrs. Raymer'll be delighted to have Betty. Shall I takeher?"
"By all means. A visit there will brighten her up and do her good."
"Well, what on earth have you been doing?" cried the Colonel. Hisremark had been called forth by a charming vision that had enteredby the open door. Betty--for it was she--wore a little red cap setjauntily on her black hair. Her linsey dress was crumpled andcovered with hayseed.
"I've been in the hay-mow," said Betty, waving a small basket. "Fora week that old black hen has circumvented me, but at last I haveconquered. I found the nest in the farthest corner under the hay."
"How did you get up in the loft?" inquired Mrs. Zane.
"Bessie, I climbed up the ladder of course. I acknowledge beingunusually light-hearted and happy this morning, but I have not asyet grown wings. Sam said I could not climb up that straight ladder,but I found it easy enough."
"You should not climb up into the loft," said Mrs. Zane, in a severetone. "Only last fall Hugh Bennet's little boy slid off the hay downinto one of the stalls and the horse kicked him nearly to death."
"Oh, fiddlesticks, Bessie, I am not a baby," said Betty, withvehemence. "There is not a horse in the barn but would stand on hishind legs before he would step on me, let alone kick me."
"I don't know, Betty, but I think that black horse Mr. Clarke lefthere would kick any one," remarked the Colonel.
"Oh, no, he would not hurt me."
"Betty, we have had pleasant weather for about three days," said theColonel, gravely. "In that time you have let out that crazy bear ofyours to turn everything topsy-turvy. Only yesterday I got my handsin the paint you have put on your canoe. If you had asked my adviceI would have told you that painting your canoe should not have beendone for a month yet. Silas told me you fell down the creek hill;Sam said you tried to drive his team over the bluff, and so on. Weare happy to see you get back your old time spirits, but could younot be a little more careful? Your versatility is bewildering. We donot know what to look for next. I fully expect to see you brought tothe house some day maimed for life, or all that beautiful black hairgone to decorate some Huron's lodge."
"I tell you I am perfectly delighted that the weather is again so Ican go out. I am tired to death of staying indoors. This morning Icould have cried for very joy. Bessie will soon be lecturing meabout Madcap. I must not ride farther than the fort. Well, I don'tcare. I intend to ride all over."
"Betty, I do not wish you to think I am lecturing you," said theColonel's wife. "But you are as wild as a March hare and some onemust tell you things. Now listen. My brother, the Major, told methat Simon Girty, the renegade, had been heard to say that he hadseen Eb Zane's little sister and that if he ever got his hands onher he would make a squaw of her. I am not teasing you. I am tellingyou the truth. Girty saw you when you were at Fort Pitt two yearsago. Now what would you do if he caught you on one of your lonelyrides and carried you off to his wigwam? He has done things likethat before. James Girty carried off one of the Johnson girls. Herbrothers tried to rescue her and lost their lives. It is a commontrick of the Indians."
"What would I do if Mr. Simon Girty tried to make a squaw of me?"exclaimed Betty, her eyes flashing fire. "Why, I'd kill him!"
"I believe it, Betts, on my word I do," spoke up the Colonel. "Butlet us hope you may never see Girty. All I ask is that you becareful. I am going over to Short Creek to-morrow. Will you go withme? I know Mrs. Raymer will be pleased to see you."
"Oh, Eb, that will be delightful!"
"Very well, get ready and we shall start early in the morning."
Two weeks later Betty returned from Short Creek and seemed to haveprofited much by her short visit. Col. Zane remarked withsatisfaction to his wife that Betty had regained all her formercheerfulness.
The morning after Betty's return was a perfect spring morning--thefirst in that month of May-days. The sun shone bright and warm; themayflowers blossomed; the trailing arbutus scented the air;everywhere the grass and the leaves looked fresh and green; swallowsflitted in and out of the barn door; the blue-birds twittered; ameadow-lark caroled forth his pure melody, and the busy hum of beescame from the fragrant apple-blossoms.
"Mis' Betty, Madcap 'pears powerfo' skittenish," said old Sam, whenhe had led the pony to where Betty stood on the hitching block."Whoa, dar, you rascal."
Betty laughed as she leaped lightly into the saddle, and soon shewas flying over the old familiar road, down across the creek bridge,past the old grist-mill, around the fort and then out on the riverbluff. The Indian pony was fiery and mettlesome. He pranced andside-stepped, galloped and trotted by turns. He seemed as glad toget out again into the warm sunshine as was Betty herself. He toredown the road a mile at his best speed. Coming back Betty pulled himinto a walk. Presently her musings were interrupted by a sharpswitch in the face from a twig of a tree. She stopped the pony andbroke off the offending branch. As she looked around therecollection of what had happened to her in that very spot flashedinto her mind. It was here that she had been stopped by the man whohad passed almost as swiftly out of her life as he had crossed herpath that memorable afternoon. She fell to musing on the oldperplexing question. After all could there not have been somemistake? Perhaps she might have misjudged him? And then the oldspirit, which resented her thinking of him in that softened mood,rose and fought the old battle over again. But as often happened themood conquered, and Betty permitted herself to sink for the momentinto the sad thoughts which returned like a mournful strain of musiconce sung by beloved voices, now forever silent.
She could not resist the desire to ride down to the old sycamore.The pony turned into the bridle-path that led down the bluff and thesure-footed beast picked his way carefully over the roots andstones. Betty's heart beat quicker when she saw the noble tree underwhose spreading branches she had spent the happiest day of her life.The old monarch of the forest was not one whit changed by the wildwinds of winter. The dew sparkled on the nearly full grown leaves;the little sycamore balls were already as large as marbles.
Betty drew rein at the top of the bank and looked absently at thetree and into the foam covered pool beneath. At that moment her eyessaw nothing physical. They held the faraway light of the dreamer,the look that sees so much of the past and nothing of the present.
Presently her reflections were broken by the actions of the pony.Madcap had thrown up her head, laid back her ears and commenced topaw the ground with her forefeet. Betty looked round to see thecause of Madcap's excitement. What was that! She saw a tall figureclad in brown leaning against the stone. She saw a long fishing-rod.What was there so familiar in the poise of that figure? Madcapdislodged a stone from the path and it went rattling down the rock,slope and fell with a splash into the water. The man heard it,turned and faced the hillside. Betty recognized Alfred Clarke. For amoment she believed she must be dreaming. She had had many dreams ofthe old sycamore. She looked again. Yes, it was he. Pale, worn, andolder he undoubtedly looked, but the features were surely those ofAlfred Clarke. Her heart gave a great bound and then seemed to stopbeating while a very agony of joy surged over her and made herfaint. So he still lived. That was her first thought, glad andjoyous, and then memory returning, her face went white as withclenched teeth she wheeled Madcap and struck her with the switch.Once on the level bluff she urged her toward the house at a furiouspace.
Col. Zane had just stepped out of the barn door and his face took onan expression of amazement when he saw the pony come tearing up theroad, Betty's hair flying in the wind and with a face as white as ifshe were pursued by a thousand yelling Indians.
"Say, Betts, what the deuce is wrong?" cried the Colonel, when Bettyreached the fence.
"Why did you not tell me that man was here again?" she demanded inintense excitement.
"That man! What man?" asked Col. Zane, considerably taken back bythis angry apparition.
"Oh, Clarke. Well, the fact is I just found it out myself. Haven't Ibeen away as well as you? I certainly cannot imagine how any mancould create such evident excitement in your mind. Poor Clarke, whathas he done now?"
"You might have told me. Somebody could have told me and saved mefrom making a fool of myself," retorted Betty, who was plainly onthe verge of tears. "I rode down to the old sycamore tree and he sawme in, of all the places in the world, the one place where I wouldnot want him to see me."
"Huh!" said the Colonel, who often gave vent to the Indianexclamation. "Is that all? I thought something had happened."
"All! Is it not enough? I would rather have died. He is a man and hewill think I followed him down there, that I was thinkingof--that--Oh!" cried Betty, passionately, and then she strode intothe house, slammed the door, and left the Colonel, lost in wonder.
"Humph! These women beat me. I can't make them out, and the older Igrow the worse I get," he said, as he led the pony into the stable.
Betty ran up-stairs to her room, her head in a whirl stronger thanthe surprise of Alfred's unexpected appearance in Fort Henry andstronger than the mortification in having been discovered going to aspot she should have been too proud to remember was the bitter sweetconsciousness that his mere presence had thrilled her through andthrough. It hurt her and made her hate herself in that moment. Shehid her face in shame at the thought that she could not help beingglad to see the man who had only trifled with her, the man who hadconsidered the acquaintance of so little consequence that he hadnever taken the trouble to write her a line or send her a message.She wrung her trembling hands. She endeavored to still thatthrobbing heart and to conquer that sweet vague feeling which hadcrept over her and made her weak. The tears began to come and with asob she threw herself on the bed and buried her head in the pillow.
An hour after, when Betty had quieted herself and had seated herselfby the window a light knock sounded on the door and Col. Zaneentered. He hesitated and came in rather timidly, for Betty was notto be taken liberties with, and seeing her by the window he crossedthe room and sat down by her side.
Betty did not remember her father or her mother. Long ago when shewas a child she had gone to her brother, laid her head on hisshoulder and told him all her troubles. The desire grew strongwithin her now. There was comfort in the strong clasp of his hand.She was not proof against it, and her dark head fell on hisshoulder.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Alfred Clarke had indeed made his reappearance in Fort Henry. Thepreceding October when he left the settlement to go on theexpedition up the Monongahela River his intention had been to returnto the fort as soon as he had finished his work, but what he did dowas only another illustration of that fatality which affectseverything. Man hopefully makes his plans and an inexorable destinyworks out what it has in store for him.
The men of the expedition returned to Fort Henry in due time, butAlfred had been unable to accompany them. He had sustained a painfulinjury and had been compelled to go to Fort Pitt for medicalassistance. While there he had received word that his mother waslying very ill at his old home in Southern Virginia and if he wishedto see her alive he must not delay in reaching her bedside. He leftFort Pitt at once and went to his home, where he remained until hismother's death. She had been the only tie that bound him to the oldhome, and now that she was gone he determined to leave the scene ofhis boyhood forever.
Alfred was the rightful heir to all of the property, but an unjustand selfish stepfather stood between him and any contentment hemight have found there. He decided he would be a soldier of fortune.He loved the daring life of a ranger, and preferred to take hischances with the hardy settlers on the border rather than live theidle life of a gentleman farmer. He declared his intention to hisstep-father, who ill-concealed his satisfaction at the turn affairshad taken. Then Alfred packed his belongings, secured his mother'sjewels, and with one sad, backward glance rode away from the statelyold mansion.
It was Sunday morning and Clarke had been two days in Fort Henry.From his little room in the block-house he surveyed thewell-remembered scene. The rolling hills, the broad river, the greenforests seemed like old friends.
"Here I am again," he mused. "What a fool a man can be. I have lefta fine old plantation, slaves, horses, a country noted for itspretty women--for what? Here there can be nothing for me butIndians, hard work, privation, and trouble. Yet I could not get herequickly enough. Pshaw! What use to speak of the possibilities of anew country. I cannot deceive myself. It is she. I would walk athousand miles and starve myself for months just for one glimpse ofher sweet face. Knowing this what care I for all the rest. Howstrange she should ride down to the old sycamore tree yesterday themoment I was there and thinking of her. Evidently she had justreturned from her visit. I wonder if she ever cared. I wonder if sheever thinks of me. Shall I accept that incident as a happy augury?Well, I am here to find out and find out I will. Aha! there goes thechurch bell."
Laughing a little at his eagerness he brushed his coat, put on hiscap and went down stairs. The settlers with their families weregoing into the meeting house. As Alfred started up the steps he metLydia Boggs.
"Why, Mr. Clarke, I heard you had returned," she said, smilingpleasantly and extending her hand. "Welcome to the fort. I am veryglad to see you."
While they were chatting her father and Col. Zane came up and bothgreeted the young man warmly.
"Well, well, back on the frontier," said the Colonel, in his heartyway. "Glad to see you at the fort again. I tell you, Clarke, I havetaken a fancy to that black horse you left me last fall. I did notknow what to think when Jonathan brought back my horse. To tell youthe truth I always looked for you to come back. What have you beendoing all winter?"
"I have been at home. My mother was ill all winter and she died inApril."
"My lad, that's bad news. I am sorry," said Col. Zane putting hishand kindly on the young man's shoulder. "I was wondering what gaveyou that older and graver look. It's hard, lad, but it's the way oflife."
"I have come back to get my old place with you, Col. Zane, if youwill give it to me."
"I will, and can promise you more in the future. I am going to opena road through to Maysville, Kentucky, and start several newsettlements along the river. I will need young men, and am more thanglad you have returned."
"Thank you, Col. Zane. That is more than I could have hoped for."
Alfred caught sight of a trim figure in a gray linsey gown comingdown the road. There were several young people approaching, but hesaw only Betty. By some evil chance Betty walked with Ralfe Miller,and for some mysterious reason, which women always keep tothemselves, she smiled and looked up into his face at a time of alltimes she should not have done so. Alfred's heart turned to lead.
When the young people reached the steps the eyes of the rivals metfor one brief second, but that was long enough for them tounderstand each other. They did not speak. Lydia hesitated andlooked toward Betty.
"Betty, here is--" began Col. Zane, but Betty passed them withflaming cheeks and with not so much as a glance at Alfred. It was anawkward moment for him.
"Let us go in," he said composedly, and they filed into the church.
As long as he lived Alfred Clarke never forgot that hour. His pridekept him chained in his seat. Outwardly he maintained his composure,but inwardly his brain seemed throbbing, whirling, bursting. What anidiot he had been! He understood now why his letter had never beenanswered. Betty loved Miller, a man who hated him, a man who wouldleave no stone unturned to destroy even a little liking which shemight have felt for him. Once again Miller had crossed his path andworsted him. With a sudden sickening sense of despair he realizedthat all his fond hopes had been but dreams, a fool's dreams. Thedream of that moment when he would give her his mother's jewels, thedream of that charming face uplifted to his, the dream of the littlecott
age to which he would hurry after his day's work and find herwaiting at the gate,--these dreams must be dispelled forever. Hecould barely wait until the end of the service. He wanted to bealone; to fight it out with himself; to crush out of his heart thatfair image. At length the hour ended and he got out before thecongregation and hurried to his room.
Betty had company all that afternoon and it was late in the day whenCol. Zane ascended the stairs and entered her room to find heralone.
"Betty, I wish to know why you ignored Mr. Clarke this morning?"said Col. Zane, looking down on his sister. There was a gleam in hiseye and an expression about his mouth seldom seen in the Colonel'sfeatures.
"I do not know that it concerns any one but myself," answered Bettyquickly, as her head went higher and her eyes flashed with a gleamnot unlike that in her brother's.
"I beg your pardon. I do not agree with you," replied Col. Zane. "Itdoes concern others. You cannot do things like that in this littleplace where every one knows all about you and expect it to passunnoticed. Martin's wife saw you cut Clarke and you know what agossip she is. Already every one is talking about you and Clarke."
"To that I am indifferent."
"But I care. I won't have people talking about you," replied theColonel, who began to lose patience. Usually he had the best temperimaginable. "Last fall you allowed Clarke to pay you a good deal ofattention and apparently you were on good terms when he went away.Now that he has returned you won't even speak to him. You let thisfellow Miller run after you. In my estimation Miller is not to becompared to Clarke, and judging from the warm greetings I saw Clarkereceive this morning, there are a number of folk who agree with me.Not that I am praising Clarke. I simply say this because to Bessie,to Jack, to everyone, your act is incomprehensible. People arecalling you a flirt and saying that they would prefer some countrymanners."
"I have not allowed Mr. Miller to run after me, as you are pleasedto term it," retorted Betty with indignation. "I do not like him. Inever see him any more unless you or Bessie or some one else ispresent. You know that. I cannot prevent him from walking to churchwith me."
"No, I suppose not, but are you entirely innocent of those sweetglances which you gave him this morning?"
"I did not," cried Betty with an angry blush. "I won't be called aflirt by you or by anyone else. The moment I am civil to some manall these old maids and old women say I am flirting. It isoutrageous."
"Now, Betty, don't get excited. We are getting from the question.Why are you not civil to Clarke?" asked Col. Zane. She did notanswer and after a moment he continued. "If there is anything aboutClarke that I do not know and that I should know I want you to tellme. Personally I like the fellow. I am not saying that to make youthink you ought to like him because I do. You might not care for himat all, but that would be no good reason for your actions. Betty, inthese frontier settlements a man is soon known for his real worth.Every one at the Fort liked Clarke. The youngsters adored him.Jessie liked him very much. You know he and Isaac became goodfriends. I think he acted like a man to-day. I saw the look Millergave him. I don't like this fellow Miller, anyway. Now, I am takingthe trouble to tell you my side of the argument. It is not aquestion of your liking Clarke--that is none of my affair. It issimply that either he is not the man we all think him or you areacting in a way unbecoming a Zane. I do not purpose to have thisstate of affairs continue. Now, enough of this beating about thebush."
Betty had seen the Colonel angry more than once, but never with her.It was quite certain she had angered him and she forgot her ownresentment. Her heart had warmed with her brother's praise ofClarke. Then as she remembered the past she felt a scorn for herweakness and such a revulsion of feeling that she cried outpassionately:
"He is a trifler. He never cared for me. He insulted me."
Col. Zane reached for his hat, got up without saying another wordand went down stairs.
Betty had not intended to say quite what she had and instantlyregretted her hasty words. She called to the Colonel, but he did notanswer her, nor return.
"Betty, what in the world could you have said to my husband?" saidMrs. Zane as she entered the room. She was breathless from runningup the stairs and her comely face wore a look of concern. "He was aswhite as that sheet and he stalked off toward the Fort without aword to me."
"I simply told him Mr. Clarke had insulted me," answered Bettycalmly.
"Great Heavens! Betty, what have you done?" exclaimed Mrs. Zane."You don't know Eb when he is angry. He is a big fool over you,anyway. He is liable to kill Clarke."
Betty's blood was up now and she said that would not be a matter ofmuch importance.
"When did he insult you?" asked the elder woman, yielding to hernatural curiosity.
"It was last October."
"Pooh! It took you a long time to tell it. I don't believe itamounted to much. Mr. Clarke did not appear to be the sort of a manto insult anyone. All the girls were crazy about him last year. Ifhe was not all right they would not have been."
"I do not care if they were. The girls can have him and welcome. Idon't want him. I never did. I am tired of hearing everyone eulogizehim. I hate him. Do you hear? I hate him! And I wish you would goaway and leave me alone."
"Well, Betty, all I will say is that you are a remarkable youngwoman," answered Mrs. Zane, who saw plainly that Betty's violentoutburst was a prelude to a storm of weeping. "I don't believe aword you have said. I don't believe you hate him. There!"
Col. Zane walked straight to the Fort, entered the block-house andknocked on the door of Clarke's room. A voice bade him come in. Heshoved open the door and went into the room. Clarke had evidentlyjust returned from a tramp in the hills, for his garments werecovered with burrs and his boots were dusty. He looked tired, buthis face was calm.
"Why, Col. Zane! Have a seat. What can I do for you?"
"I have come to ask you to explain a remark of my sister's."
"Very well, I am at your service," answered Alfred slowly lightinghis pipe, after which he looked straight into Col. Zane's face.
"My sister informs me that you insulted her last fall before youleft the Fort. I am sure you are neither a liar nor a coward, and Iexpect you to answer as a man."
"Col. Zane, I am not a liar, and I hope I am not a coward," saidAlfred coolly. He took a long pull on his pipe and blew a puff ofwhite smoke toward the ceiling.
"I believe you, but I must have an explanation. There is somethingwrong somewhere. I saw Betty pass you without speaking this morning.I did not like it and I took her to task about it. She then said youhad insulted her. Betty is prone to exaggerate, especially whenangry, but she never told me a lie in her life. Ever since youpulled Isaac out of the river I have taken an interest in you.That's why I'd like to avoid any trouble. But this thing has gonefar enough. Now be sensible, swallow your pride and let me hear yourside of the story."
Alfred had turned pale at his visitor's first words. There was nomistaking Col. Zane's manner. Alfred well knew that the Colonel, ifhe found Betty had really been insulted, would call him out and killhim. Col. Zane spoke quietly, ever kindly, but there was anundercurrent of intense feeling in his voice, a certain deadlyintent which boded ill to anyone who might cross him at that moment.Alfred's first impulse was a reckless desire to tell Col. Zane hehad nothing to explain and that he stood ready to give anysatisfaction in his power. But he wisely thought better of this. Itstruck him that this would not be fair, for no matter what the girlhad done the Colonel had always been his friend. So Alfred pulledhimself together and resolved to make a clean breast of the wholeaffair.
"Col. Zane, I do not feel that I owe your sister anything, and whatI am going to tell you is simply because you have always been myfriend, and I do not want you to have any wrong ideas about me. I'lltell you the truth and you can be the judge as to whether or not Iinsulted your sister. I fell in love with her, almost at firstsight. The night after the Indians recaptured your brother, Bettyand I stood out in the moonlight and she looked so bewitching and Ifel
t so sorry for her and so carried away by my love for her that Iyielded to a momentary impulse and kissed her. I simply could nothelp it. There is no excuse for me. She struck me across the faceand ran into the house. I had intended that night to tell her of mylove and place my fate in her hands, but, of course, the unfortunateoccurrence made that impossible. As I was to leave at dawn next day,I remained up all night, thinking what I ought to do. Finally Idecided to write. I wrote her a letter, telling her all and beggingher to become my wife. I gave the letter to your slave, Sam, andtold him it was a matter of life and death, and not to lose theletter nor fail to give it to Betty. I have had no answer to thatletter. Today she coldly ignored me. That is my story, Col. Zane."
"Well, I don't believe she got the letter," said Col. Zane. "She hasnot acted like a young lady who has had the privilege of saying'yes' or 'no' to you. And Sam never had any use for you. He dislikedyou from the first, and never failed to say something against you."
"I'll kill that d--n nigger if he did not deliver that letter," saidClarke, jumping up in his excitement. "I never thought of that. GoodHeaven! What could she have thought of me? She would think I hadgone away without a word. If she knew I really loved her she couldnot think so terribly of me."
"There is more to be explained, but I am satisfied with your side ofit," said Col. Zane. "Now I'll go to Sam and see what has become ofthat letter. I am glad I am justified in thinking of you as I have.I imagine this thing has hurt you and I don't wonder at it. Maybe wecan untangle the problem yet. My advice would be--but never mindthat now. Anyway, I'm your friend in this matter. I'll let you knowthe result of my talk with Sam."
"I thought that young fellow was a gentleman," mused Col. Zane as hecrossed the green square and started up the hill toward the cabins.He found the old negro seated on his doorstep.
"Sam, what did you do with a letter Mr. Clarke gave you last Octoberand instructed you to deliver to Betty?"
"I dun recollec' no lettah, sah," replied Sam.
"Now, Sam, don't lie about it. Clarke has just told me that he gaveyou the letter. What did you do with it?"
"Masse Zane, I ain dun seen no lettah," answered the old darkey,taking a dingy pipe from his mouth and rolling his eyes at hismaster.
"If you lie again I will punish you," said Col. Zane sternly. "Youare getting old, Sam, and I would not like to whip you, but I willif you do not find that letter."
Sam grumbled, and shuffled inside the cabin. Col. Zane heard himrummaging around. Presently he came back to the door and handed avery badly soiled paper to the Colonel.
"What possessed you to do this, Sam? You have always been honest.Your act has caused great misunderstanding and it might have led toworse."
"He's one of dem no good Southern white trash; he's good fernuttin'," said Sam. "I saw yo' sistah, Mis' Betty, wit him, and Iseen she was gittin' fond of him, and I says I ain't gwinter haveMis' Betty runnin' off wif him. And I'se never gibbin de lettah toher."
That was all the explanation Sam would vouchsafe, and Col. Zane,knowing it would be useless to say more to the well-meaning butignorant and superstitious old negro, turned and wended his way backto the house. He looked at the paper and saw that it was addressedto Elizabeth Zane, and that the ink was faded until the letters werescarcely visible.
"What have you there?" asked his wife, who had watched him go up thehill to the negro's cabin. She breathed a sigh of relief when shesaw that her husband's face had recovered its usual placidexpression.
"It is a little letter for that young fire-brand up stairs, and, Ibelieve it will clear up the mystery. Clarke gave it to Sam lastfall and Sam never gave it to Betty."
"I hope with all my heart it may settle Betty. She worries me todeath with her love affairs."
Col. Zane went up stairs and found the young lady exactly as he hadleft her. She gave an impatient toss of her head as he entered.
"Well, Madam, I have here something that may excite even yourinterest." he said cheerily.
"What?" asked Betty with a start. She flushed crimson when she sawthe letter and at first refused to take it from her brother. She wasat a loss to understand his cheerful demeanor. He had been anythingbut pleasant a few moments since.
"Here, take it. It is a letter from Mr. Clarke which you should havereceived last fall. That last morning he gave this letter to Sam todeliver to you, and the crazy old nigger kept it. However, it is toolate to talk of that, only it does seem a great pity. I feel sorryfor both of you. Clarke never will forgive you, even if you want himto, which I am sure you do not. I don't know exactly what is in thisletter, but I know it will make you ashamed to think you did nottrust him."
With this parting reproof the Colonel walked out, leaving Bettycompletely bewildered. The words "too late," "never forgive," and "agreat pity" rang through her head. What did he mean? She tore theletter open with trembling hands and holding it up to the nowfast-waning light, she read
"Dear Betty:
"If you had waited only a moment longer I know you would not havebeen so angry with me. The words I wanted so much to say choked meand I could not speak them. I love you. I have loved you from thevery first moment, that blessed moment when I looked up over yourpony's head to see the sweetest face the sun ever shone on. I'll bethe happiest man on earth if you will say you care a little for meand promise to be my wife.
"It was wrong to kiss you and I beg your forgiveness. Could you butsee your face as I saw it last night in the moonlight, I would notneed to plead: you would know that the impulse which swayed me wasirresistible. In that kiss I gave you my hope, my love, my life, myall. Let it plead for me.
"I expect to return from Ft. Pitt in about six or eight weeks, but Icannot wait until then for your answer.
"With hope I sign myself,
"Yours until death,
"Alfred."
Betty read the letter through. The page blurred before her eyes; asensation of oppression and giddiness made her reach out helplesslywith both hands. Then she slipped forward and fell on the floor. Forthe first time in all her young life Betty had fainted. Col. Zanefound her lying pale and quiet under the window.